Right Side of Justice
Chapter 7 – "A Liability"
The complication foreseen to spawn from an easy victory was swollen heads and inflated egos.
"You never saw a smoother ambush than that!"
"No sir-y, professional-like I tell you."
"Except for that belch I heard from my right."
Harold Crock, to which this last comment was directed, swung at the speaker's head, knocking the fellow's hat off. "What are you sayin' about belchin'?"
Legolas returned Braden's hat. "That's enough," he admonished, privately noting that a Sunday school class would be less immature. "They had no conception we'd try anything so soon. Next time they'll be more aware."
The horses tethered, all save Toril who dosed on his feet near Legolas' blanket roll, Bryne joined in the harnessing of their band's spirits. "Lower your bloody voices," he ordered sharply, "or we'll find ourselves surrounded in the morning by Godard's folk, each with a bullet in our head."
A sudden hush engulfed their fireless camp. Legolas would have to take a hint from Bryne if ever he had to take care of children again.
---
The next morning brought no bullets in unwelcoming places, only the reawakened breeze from yesterday. Dark yet was the sky but dawn was well on its way.
In amiable silence, Benito and Legolas sat with their backs against the rock face and looking toward the town. Legolas made sure no eyes could pick them out from the rock.
"Are you sure that you will be safe?"
Benito nodded and patted Legolas' arm. "Don't fret a hair on your head, laddy. I can take care of myself. Made ends meet many a year before I got tucked under your mothering wing." His homely face crinkled into a mess of wrinkles. "What could they do to an old, harmless man like me? If confronted with questions on the matter of my consorting with your good self, I can speak honestly: I was kidnapped!"
"And if they ask about last night's attack?"
Knees cracked, reminding Benito of his age as he rose. "My good lad, I did nothing more last night than sit on an old, fat horse and make popping noises."
Legolas walked with him to the line of horses. "Be careful down there." I won't be there to protect you. "I need a pair of eyes and ears in the public circle; I can't afford to kidnap another old man."
"Lord, a jest from the impassive face of Mateo!" Benito would have thrown up his arms in amazement, if Legolas had not nudged his horse, sending man and beast careening down the hillside.
Legolas watched them go, uneasiness swelling in his chest. Bring him back safely.
"It's more likely to fall out that way; try the hat instead."
"Oh, and you would know the best ways to have perfect hair."
Legolas' expression prompted Scott to elaborate in a lower, explanatory tone. "Being an elf and all"
"What possibly would make you think being an elf has anything to do with hair?"
Scott settled his hat firmly on his head, then gesticulated at Legolas' head, "Well, for starters, just look at it."
"I'm afraid I don't have a mirror on hand, why don't you do the looking for both of us." Legolas wasn't sure where this conversation was going – if it was going anywhere at all.
"I mean," more gestures and hand flourishes, "it's shiny."
Scott had begun his education on the nature of Elves - a tedious, and sometimes painful course. Lesson One: Do not apply feminism to a male, warrior elf.
---
"Where's the old man?" Bryne asked sharply, suspicious of deceit.
Legolas passed him his canteen. The suspicion was unwelcome, there had to be trust to be progress. "Benito has gone to serve as both our eyes and ears in Godard's territory. He'll come back eventually when he deems the time right."
Bryne looked no happier.
"You have no grounds to distrust him," Legolas said sternly.
"I also have no grounds to trust him."
"Do you trust me?"
Bryne stared long and hard at the strange person crouching opposite of him. Did he trust this fellow with the unblinking eyes and quiet voice. He knew nothing of his past, nothing of his nature save what he had observed. He was dangerous, one had only to look at him to know that, lethality practically sparked off his fingers. He had absolutely not reason to trust this one who claimed his name was Legolas.
Yet, looking deeper he found he did, implicitly, and most likely, foolishly. Legolas had all the markings of a cold-blooded killer – and that, he very well may be, Bryne admitted, but he also had all the markings of a character who stuck to his word by death or horror.
"I trust you."
"And I trust Benito, so much so that I would willingly place your life in his hands."
Bryne gave a concise nod, uncertainties waning. He understood Legolas' meaning – what he really had said was, "My life is secondary, my comrades' are primary." It was a big trust that he placed on Benito.
"Our great leaders are in conference," Braden interjected, setting foot in their quiet conversing. "Whom do we ambush next? I say we go straight for Godard himself." He laughed brashly, Crock being the only other to join him. Ruben stood by, silent.
A look passed between Legolas and Bryne. Which one of us has to set him straight, you or I? The responsibility fell to Legolas.
This young man was a liability. He was too fiery, too cocky, and too probable to fly off the handle and go solo too soon. He could easily cost them all their lives if a situation like that occurred.
"By all means, attack at will," Legolas said, ice edging his voice. "Your death would be an asset to the rest of us."
"What does that mean?" snapped Braden, advancing an angry step.
"Exactly what I said. With your foolishness and desire to glorify yourself, you would risk our lives as well as your own."
Very few forms of intimidation work on the unwavering hearts of the Eldar, rendering Braden's efforts vain and demeaning only to himself. He stood over Legolas, a hand at his hip and look of rage twisting his face. "You sit there and refuse to even look at me; you are the fool and the coward!"
Legolas still did not raise his eyes. "The fool and coward is the one who cannot take such a taunt without trying to prove the insulter wrong."
Braden's face twisted further, "I'm fed up with your arrogant ways, strutting around without showing fear or emotion. Oh, but you feel it, I know you do. Your scared even now, aren't you?"
No reply from Legolas. Ruben looked edgy, Crock shared in his agitation. Byrne watched, without interference, but a hand slipped to the dirt by his side – as did Scott - fingers in easy reach of his gun.
"Answer! Defend yourself, or do you wait for others to do it for you?" Braden's fingers curled at his side. "Answer!"
No amount of badgering or demanding from Braden's mouth moved Legolas from silence. Not even the barely perceptible snick of Braden's weapon leaving its holster brought a flinch. Crock surged forward, mouth open and breathless, Ruben's hand flashed down to his hip, even Bryne wrapped his fingers around the grip of his gun.
"Coward! Get up and fight me if you're not afraid."
Legolas blinked slowly under the shadow of his hat. "Stand down, Braden."
"No, you stand up."
"Braden, stand down."
A sweat had broken out over the Irishman's forehead; the hammer drew back on his pistol.
"If you won't stand down, you have to shoot," Legolas finally turned his eyes upward, slowly. "And if you shoot, I will defend myself." Finally, his eyes were fixed upon the Irishman with all their dreadful intensity. Now Braden wished those eyes had never turned on him.
The tables had turned on the Irishman; it was not he who had worked Legolas into a corner, but Legolas who had trapped him. Both courses of action led only to folly.
The Irishman gritted his teeth, his finger squeezing the trigger. "Stand up."
"Braden, you fool!" Crock hissed from a safe distance behind the Irishman, "Put the gun down!"
"Why? You heard the things he said as well as I, you think I can just let him say those things?"
"If they're true, then sure."
"Enough talking! If he won't stand and face me like a man, then he'll be shot like a," he paused momentarily, the word coming not quite as easily as it had before, "coward."
He's really going to shoot, grimly thought Bryne's mind; and he was right, or would have been if Legolas had not cracked his forearm across Braden's wrist with such force that the unfortunate's limb went dead numb, both gun and hand falling limp.
On his feet, Legolas spun Braden face first into the rocks, the man's injured limb held firmly at the small of his back. "I'm not a pacifist, Braden, I act when it is in the interest of my friends." Legolas leaned in close, his voice menacing, "Right now," he jerked the arm higher, putting an end to Braden's struggles, "you are not on my 'friend' list."
The man staggered away the moment he was loose, a hateful gleam in his eye, but he said no more about Legolas' supposed cowardice. He turned his back and swore, meeting the eyes of no one as he passed.
Legolas knelt, retrieving the discarded weapon. He extended the grip of the gun to Crock, who stood silent, eyeing him with a reasonable respect and staying at arms length. "Either I have only sped up the inevitable, or he is cured for the duration of his service," Legolas said to Bryne when they were alone, a weary air seeping through the cracks in his cool expression.
"You've done all you can, save killing him," assured Bryne.
"I hope," Legolas said at length, "I hope it does not come to that."
Bryne steered the conversation elsewhere. "Where do we go from here?"
"We continue as we began, biting at them with small, sure bites."
"For how long?"
Bryne heard Legolas sigh, "They can't be out here just to steal a few horses†Until we find out what they really want." Preemptively, Legolas answered his next question, "And we find out when either Benito informs us, or byâ€other means."
"Hostages," he said with distaste, a dislike for the idea immediately festering.
"Or by the natural progression of events." Legolas shook his head, arms folding, "I'm not a strategist, Bryne, nor a leader. Don't mistake me for one. Plans are a wise thing to meditate on, but one can't be bound by them – even if I could form one solid enough on which we could depend."
He's an odd bird, that one is, mused Bryne correctly, but he delved no deeper into his curiosities. "Then bite we will, until there's nothing left to bite."
---
Benito nodded in his rickety chair, looking convincingly like the victimized and displaced old man of which he played the part. His tattered mess of a hat slumped dejectedly over his eyes as he dosed with one ear open to The Star of Harris' gossip. He'd been most fortunate – this the seventh day of his residence back in town, and already many a stinging blow had been delt to their opposition.
A foot nudged his leg, Benito opened an eye. "Are you the old man?" his disturber asked.
"There are many old men, Señor, and I am one of them."
"But are you the old man that Godard's crowd pulled aside early this week?"
Benito caught himself before he looked up too sharply. "Si , I am that unfortunate," he launched into his rehearsed lamentation of his fate, "Unfortunate to be so cruelly used by –"
"Come off it, man," the other hissed, eyes darting nervously about the bar. "I know you're with them - the outlaws I mean."
A twinge of fear numbed any quick response. Should he deny? Run? Acknowledge? "Why would you say that?"
"Because I know Bryne Porter is with them, and he doesn't bring himself so low as to kidnap old men."
"'Old men', 'old men', all I hear is how aged I am! Respect for elders," Benito harrumphed, "not taught anymore."
"So you are that old man?"
Benito stabbed a finger at his face and gut consecutively, "My brow is wrinkled, and this belly isn't so small as it used to be," he stretched a stiff knee, winced, "neither are the bones too willing. I am an old man. What of it?"
"A stubborn old man too, I reckon."
Benito smiled smugly.
The younger man fidgeted, "Is there somewhere else we can talk?"
"I'm sure. But like you pointed out, I'm old, and these bones don't move without something to entice them."
"If it's money you want, then I've only got – "
Chair creaking in harmony with his joints, Benito stood to his feet and nodded toward the stairs. "I don't want your money youngster, just testin' the waters. I've a room, if you wish to rob me there, at least I'll have a bed to die on."
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A/N: Major, major, major issue chapter to write. I think I grew a few grey hairs.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 6. I'm terribly sorry for making you folks wait so bloody long. :